


Remind me Who I Was

by Wildfire6



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Amnesia, Amnesiac Dean, Angst, Bottom Castiel, Drug Abuse, F/M, Hurt, M/M, Memory Loss, Top Dean Winchester, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:29:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3976444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildfire6/pseuds/Wildfire6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if 35 years of your life disappear? Gone, without a trace. </p><p>Having built up Camp Chitaqua and grown to the cold, fearless leader, Dean had only one goal in mind: to kill the devil. But after he suffered from a severe head injury on a mission he lays in a coma for 2 weeks and when he wakes up- there are no goals of killing the devil no longer, no memories of Cas or Sam, he can't remember anything. </p><p>Unaware of the relationship between himself and Cas, Dean has two choices: trying to restore his memories or start off on a clean slate. But that is not the only problem he has coming</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Who are you?

_A male voice whispering, a soft brush over his hand, an obnoxious beeping next to his left ear. Those were the very first memories he had._

_Everything started off as a blur. A blur of darkness, numbness and confusion. Sometimes there would be lights, voices, something moving his right arm. He’d hear names he couldn’t recall, which immediately got lost in that dark hole of his mind. Sometimes his eyelids would attempt to open but they were just so heavy– his whole body was. There were times when he was fighting to regain control over his body but he was just so tired. His brain wasn’t even trying to make sense out of the occasional sensations._

_Yet, out of all things, he remembered a voice, soothing and desperate, whispering words into his ear. His brain wouldn’t make sense of them, it was unable to put the pieces together to understand what the voice was saying. But it was a memory, his first memory._

__________________

 

It had been over a week, possibly 2, maybe more, since the accident happened on a mission, and Cas couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways he could have prevented this. Dean’s head injury, the death of 10 of their people, the leader falling in a coma, it was all on him.

The longer Dean was in this state, the more twitchy and nervous inhabitants of the camp grew. They got to the point in which they started unofficially voting on whom to replace the leader position in the time of his absence. But Cas knew that there was no one, absolutely no one who could replace the fearless leader. It didn’t matter what they said about him, that he was cold and heartless, he still was the one who saved those people and gave them a chance to survive. Cas didn’t **want** anyone else on the leader position, wanting rather to have no leader at all than anyone else.

Ironically, it was the former angel who was the second in command. Dean had established that when they built up the camp when Cas was still...useful. Now, however, ...he was nothing more than a junkie. The fearless leader had said that himself, and the man couldn’t object. Useless, drug-addict, hippie, he was all of that. He couldn’t manage the camp by himself. Instead he asked Rick Aldridge, a former hunter who knew Dean from back in the days, to go on runs to find more medical supplies, in concern that the ones available weren’t enough for the leader’s recovery.

Ignoring the rumors and nervousness among the survivors, Cas barely ever left Dean’s side, he couldn’t remember the last time he slept or ate. Sometimes he would swallow some amphetamines just to get through the day, but even drugs seemed too insignificant anymore. Most of the time he’d just sit next to Dean, hold his hand in silence, other days he’d tell him stories, before they built the Camp, when they were just living in abandoned buildings or driving around in the Impala on empty highways, just both of them together.

Rogers, a former and the only doctor in the camp, had told Cas that he couldn’t tell when Dean would wake up. Cas noticed the way he paused before saying “when” instead of “if”. But there was no way Dean wouldn’t wake up again, Cas knew that even in this state the man would continue on fighting.

Cas just needed him to wake up again.

Some days Cas could’ve sworn to see Dean moving his eyes, fingers or toes flinching but when he called for Lena or Kate, the only nurses available here, Dean would’ve already be in his previous state again.

And then one day Cas saw it again, saw how Dean’s eyes attempted to flatter open, his hands twitching just like the previous times. Having learnt not to bother calling for the nurses, since they’d tell him again that he was just hallucinating triggered by the lack of sleep, his eyes were simply focused on Dean, hoping and secretly praying for the man to wake up. He'd had to stop himself so many times before not to start praying to his sisters and brothers, knowing all too well that there was no one listening anymore. But this time, there was something different. Green eyes became visible under those thick eyelashes, trying to focus on something, full lips opening and closing as if they were trying to word something.

Cas could feel his heart jump at the sight, his breath held. “Lena” He called, his voice being barely a whisper. “Lena” he attempted again, this time louder. The nurse rushed by, checking on Dean who’s eyes were following the motions of the nurse, green hues filled with confusion.

“Welcome back” Cas finally managed to say, a hysteric laughter of relief that sounded slightly insane slipped his lips. His eyes locked with the others when Dean followed the sound of his voice and god, Cas had missed those eyes so much.

“Where am I?” Dean’s voice was husky and tired, but it sounded like the most beautiful thing Cas had heard. A joyful smile formed on the ex-angel’s face, feeling his heart beat faster.

“You’re at the hospital.”

Dean’s expression was still filled with confusion, his brows frowning.

“Who are you?”

The smile in Cas’ face froze, slowly fading as he heard those words.

_Who are you._

Dean must have been joking, just to freak all of them out. Yeah that must have been it.

Then why did he look so serious about the question?

Out of the corners of his eyes, Cas could see Lena exchanging looks with Kate who’d rushed by, their faces sharing emotions of concern and pity.

“I’m….Cas...” The former angel could barely talk, his voice cracked, losing its strength within the last word.

“It’s better you leave, Cas” Kate tried telling him as she laid her hand on his shoulder but Cas objected, pulling away from her. “No, I’m not going to leave, I’m not, I’m–” Not after staying day and night with Dean, not after the desperation was killing him from the inside.

“He needs space” The female’s voice became more demanding, attempting to touch his arm this time. When Cas didn’t reply she carefully directed him to the exit, touching him cautiously as if the man would break apart if she wouldn’t be gentle enough.

Cas allowed Kate to lead him outside, his eyes not losing sight of Dean, feeling his heart clench harder with every step he took away from the bedside.

_How could he have forgotten me?_

__________________

 

Everything was confusing and unfamiliar, the faces, the room, even his own body. He had no idea what was going on, why he was in a friggin’ hospital, why he had tubes everywhere attached to his body, who the dark-haired guy was, why his head was hurting like a bitch and why his ears were buzzing like a bug was stuck inside of them.

“What–?” He attempted to sit up but one of the females ,no nurses, he realized as his brain notified him, pushed him softly back into the bed.

“Just relax, Sir. Dr. Rogers will be here in just a few seconds.”

He would’ve dissented it, if it weren’t for the sudden stroke of pain flushing through his head, disorientating him completely. Breathing slowly, he leaned back, his eyes clenched shut at the pain, waiting it out to calm down. His body was alarmed, wanting to jump up and protect himself from...something, but what? What the hell was going on?

“Mr. Winchester, I’m Dr. Rogers” Opening his eyes again he saw a man standing at the end of the bed, another unfamiliar face.

_Winchester._

Did they call him Winchester? That wasn’t his name, was it? No, his name was…

….He couldn’t recall his own name.

“Do you remember me?”

Noticing that his eyes drifted off, he focused on Rogers again, confused by the emotions of alertness, loss and nervousness. “No, I-...” he breathed, trying to dig into his mind to figure out if he’d seen him before but got overwhelmed by the pain of another headache yet again.

“Just take it slow. I’m Sebastian Rogers, I’m the doctor here.” The man flipped a page of a notepad, writing something on it. “Do you know your name?”

With a clenched jaw he shook his head, voicing a breathless “No.”

Rogers nodded silently, appearing calm and steady. Something in his mind told him that doctors had to be that way, that it’s part of their job. “Your name is Dean Winchester.”

Dean Winchester.

Winchester.

“Like the gun?” It slipped Dean’s lips before he could even think about it, whereat the doctor lifted his head to look at him.

“Yes.” Dean detected a certain feeling in the man’s expression– _Relief_. Why was he relieved? “Do you remember anything before the incident?”

_Incident? What incident?_

“I... no, look buddy, I don’t know what the hell is going on, I don’t-”

_I don’t remember anything._

A wave of frustration overcame him when he realized that he couldn’t recall one single thing. How was that possible? And **_why_ ** couldn’t he fish anything out of his memory?

“Is there anything you can recall?”

“No,” he snarled immediately, his voice dripping with anger and annoyance, wiping his hand over his chin and mouth.

“Do you know who the first president was, Dean?”

The first president? “What the hell does that have anything to do with me?”

“Please answer the question.”

“Alright, George Washington.”

A content nod was the result of Dean’s answer, before Rogers moved on, asking him a series of questions, some elementary-school-facts without leaving the man the chance to ask why the hell he was asking any of those questions. But the one thing Dean was wondering about was why on earth he could tell those things but not even know his own name?

“Dean, you seem to be suffering from a severe form of retrograde amnesia, it’s a form of memory loss. You’ve lost all your memories before the accident, but it appears your semantic memory which includes facts is only slightly damaged.”

Amnesia. Memory loss. Those terms were actually familiar to him, but he still didn’t understand why he didn’t remember _anything_ asides from some useless facts. “That sounds really fucking peachy but are you going to tell me what that accident was you’re talking about?”

For a few moments the man was silent as if he was conflicted on whether or not to tell him. “You hit your head and as a result of a cranial trauma you were in a coma for 2 weeks and 3 days.”

Coma, trauma, amnesia. All of this from hitting one’s head? Dean’s mind and thoughts were still so fucking fuzzy, pulling facts out of it seemed easy but everything beyond that was like having to search for a needle in a haystack. But there was something, a foggy memory that was stuck in his head, probably while he was unconscious in the hospital. The beeping, the whisper, the soft brush over his hand. And then there was this dark-haired guy who’s intense blue eyes brightened when Dean started talking. There was just something about that man that triggered something inside of himself. “Who was that guy from before, ...Cas was it?”

“Yes, Castiel to be exact” Rogers answered, closing his notebook before looking up again. “He’s your friend, stayed all this time by your side while you were unconscious.”

His friend. Something inside of Dean wanted to correct the doctor but correct him to what? Best friends? Dean didn’t even know that guy’s full name until a few seconds ago. _But what was that unidentified feeling inside of him?_


	2. Loneliness

_Who are you?_

The words of his were still echoing in Cas’ head, haunting him among the mocking voices in his mind which were filled with hatred, laughing at his misery. Numbness had trapped his body, he didn’t know how to move his muscles anymore, instead he just stared into the distance in silence, his eyes not even trying to focus on anything.

_Who are you?_

The pain of those words were ridiculous, pathetic, since Dr. Rogers had told him that Dean had amnesia, that it had nothing to do with the former angel not sticking in the leader’s memory. According to Rogers he’d asked Dean a series of questions, asking him about his background, but the man didn’t remember **anything**. The doctor told him that without the proper equipment to scan Dean’s brain they couldn’t tell for sure how enorm the damages were but apparently the chance of Dean recovering most of his memories were close to impossible. And all of it was Cas’ fault.

_Who are you?_

A hysteric laugh broke out of Cas’ lungs, affected by ecstasy, which was finally kicking in, as he noticed that the agony was fading and being replaced by euphoria.

His cabin was so empty, usually the women of his orgies would be here by now. Oh, right, he had announced that he couldn’t come for the orgies for the last few weeks.

“Who are you” Cas hummed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wooden wall. It appeared so amusing to him now that Dean didn’t remember him. Didn’t remember how screwed he was, how hapless and hopeless his whole being that was once a mighty angel became.That he didn’t remember the nights of them together. Another loud chuckle filled the silence of the room, as Cas started enjoying the light-headedness, as if he was floating. No pain, no shame, no guilt. It all didn’t matter anymore. He was at peace.

__________________

“Dean, there’s someone who wants to see you.”

Dean lifted his head at the voice of the nurse, Kate, as she’d introduced herself to him. It appeared that they knew each other before, but when he asked the female how, she just smiled and told him that he’d saved her one year ago. He had no idea what she meant by that and when he asked her how exactly, she simply shook her head and told him “One memory at a time”. Rogers kept on with what he called ‘Training’, showing Dean pictures of people who were friends and acquaintances of him, before explaining who they were. They kept on making sure that he memorized the faces and wouldn’t lose those memories again. Dean still didn’t know much asides from faces, and random facts and everytime he asked a question they told him to take one step at a time. They might’ve been right, it had been only 2 days since he woke up from that friggin’ coma but the man felt restless, feeling as if he needed to be doing something else. If he just knew what it was.

“Who is it?” The face of the dark-haired man sparked up in his mind, wait no, his name was Castiel. He had to start thinking of people by their names. He hadn’t seen that guy since the first time, and he was pretty much bound to the bed so that he couldn’t do anything about it.

“It’s Risa”

The name rang a bell, his mind was finding the picture shown to him that was fitting to the name– Dark, long hair, brown, fierce eyes. In the moment he put the pieces of her face together said woman walked in, carrying a cautious smile on her face as if she got told to be careful on how to act around him. “Hey, Dean”

“Hey” The man greeted back, watching her as she took a chair to sit next to him while Kate was walking off again.

“How’re holding up?” She’d folded her hands on her lap, as if she was preventing for them to move by themselves.

Dean lifted his hands a little before returning in it’s previous position. “Well, I’m alive”

The woman chuckled for an inch of a moment, looking down at her fingers, appearing to be unsure of what to say. “I’m Risa, you probably don’t remember me.” Her eyes lifted a little as if she was hoping that he was going to object. When Dean slowly shook his head she shrugged her shoulders in an apologetic manner. “This is...probably very weird for you I just wanted to drop by and see how you’re doing since we got the news that you woke up.” A short pause dropped in. There was something about her that irritated Dean, maybe it was the tentative way she acted around him like he’d just survived a murder. And yeah, despite him being in a coma, he was goddamn uncomfortable of how she was babying him. “This is probably not the best time but uh- we used to sort of...dated before”

Dean raised his brows, surprised at the new information “Oh” They used to date? Rogers didn’t tell him much of the relations between him and other people so he had no idea about that.

“I guess, Sebastian didn’t tell you, huh?” She grimaced a little as if she got caught breaking the rules.

“Well, till yesterday I didn’t know my own damn age” Dean retorted with a joking grin. He didn’t know what to talk to her about. What do you say to people who know you while you didn’t even know yourself that well yet?

Risa bit her bottom lip, her eyes focused on her lap, a long pause intervened once again which seemed to last forever until the female stood up with a quick motion. “I have to get some work done but I’ll visit you again” And with those words she rushed to the exit without looking back.

Something told Dean that it would take a while until she’d visit him again.

The rest of the day was boring as hell, Lena brought by some books and a notepad for him so he could stay occupied but Dean had little interest in the choices of books. Instead he would write down names of the people Rogers had shown him on the notepad, debating on what possible connections they had with him. But it seemed all so damn insignificant. Often, he caught himself looking out the small hospital windows which didn’t reveal much asides from tree-filled forests and desiring the feeling to be out there and do something useful instead of being stuck in bed.

The doc said that he had to stay here for at least 2 weeks for his own safety (whatever the hell he meant by safety, it wasn’t like he’d go off on a mass-murder-trip) and Dean was not excited to be staying there for long. Then again, he didn’t know what to do when he got back to his home, wherever that was. Was Risa living with him? Did he have a crappy apartment, a white-picket-fence-house in some suburb or was he living in some over-populated city in a studio or loft? Rogers didn’t tell him much about his past, not even his occupation. At least he knew that he didn’t have any known kids. When he asked the man about his family the doctor told him that he used to have a younger brother and parents but they’d all passed away. There was so much Dean didn’t know about his own damn life, hell, he didn’t even know much of how he was like as a person. These other people seemed to know more about himself than he did. He was supposed to take it slow and not stress himself over trying to remember but how the hell could he just to walk away from 35 years of his life?

The next few days Rogers dropped by at the usual time, exercising with him the what Dean called “most boring picture-game” by checking if he remembered the faces and names properly of the photos. He’d still take babysteps one by one, telling Dean about the occupation those people had- no used to have, as he repeatedly corrected Dean, despite not explaining the patient what he meant by that.

Sometimes he’d look into that mirror of the bathroom and stare at himself, trace the beginning of crow's feet at the corner of his eyes, trying to figure out if he had his dark-blonde hair up or down and wondering in how many bar fights he must've gotten to have such scarred, red knuckles. Then again, he had scares all over his body, some of them seemed to have had sloppy stitches and couldn't heal properly. He had a strange tattoo of a…–what was it? A pentagram? Yeah, that was it– on the left side of his chest and something you can only describe as a burning mark in the form of a hand on his left upper-arm. Knowing that Rogers would only give him some bullshit speech about taking one step at the time, Dean didn’t ask him about it. Still, his imagination played wild when thinking about how he must’ve received the mark– and in what kind of batshit-crazy witch cult could he have been to have that tattoo on his chest?

In the 4th night he started having dreams, whatever you wanted to call it. Strange ones of monsters like vampires, werewolves, demons and something resembling zombies. Often he’d see himself kill them in various ways with guns, knives, crossbows,...Making him question if he was some kind of friggin’ psychopath before. More than once there was a man in his dream, but his face was always blurry. Rogers didn’t ever comment when Dean told him about the dreams, just scribbling something into his notepad. If it weren’t for the monsters Dean would be sure that those dreams were memories since they felt so damn intense and vivid.

The blue-eyed guy, Castiel, didn’t show up for the whole week, neither did Risa or any of the rest of people which were shown to Dean on pictures. The feeling of loss and loneliness haunted him throughout the whole time. It wasn’t hard to understand why they wouldn’t come to see him. Dean didn’t know them, didn’t remember any experiences he had with them. It was probably harder for them than for the man. So, he was alone most of the time. Lena and Kate would drop by to check on him, sometimes start some small talk but it was as unsatisfying as being alone. He hated this. All of this.

***

“Good morning, Dean” Lena was carrying a tablet with food, stuffed with several plates as she walked towards the man, placing it in front of him.

“Chicken soup _again_?” He was so goddamn tired of eating that crap. Yesterday it was also included in every damn meal and it wasn’t even the good kind of soup.

The woman smiled at him apologetic while adjusting the blankets of his. “There were a lot of leftover so we have to use it up”

“On your patients?”

Lena looked at him with a “Don’t be a bitch about this”-sort-of-gaze, before telling him to eat. It was the 8th day since Dean had woken up from the coma and he still didn’t remember anything. The headaches were still occasionally striking through his head, everytime it felt as if nails were being hammered into his temples but he’d gotten medication to reduce the pain as well as nutrition- pills which were meant to replace the missing substances in his body which were caused by the ....craviel, crianel,.... _criavanel_? Screw it, by that weird-named trauma, let’s go by that.

Just as Dean was eating that toilet-water-soup he heard pained groans close to him. Curiously looking up, Dean saw another man in one of the beds, tossing around under a white blanket appearing to be suffering in agony.

“He was brought in here last night” Lena explained before Dean could even ask.

“What’s he in for?” His body started alarming him, telling him that there was something wrong with that guy.

The woman was hesitating for a moment, peeking a look at the guy. “He got attacked by a wolf” Something about her voice revealed to Dean that she was lying, but instead of exposing her, his attention returned back to his food. It was a waste of time of asking her why the hell she was lying about something as little as that because he’d just get the same answer again–”You’ll get to know step by step” By now Dean was so fucking tired of hearing that phrase.

Lena told him to enjoy his breakfast (yeah, right, like that food was enjoyment) before she took off, checking on the other guy. Trying to ignore the alertness of his body he reached over to his night stand, grabbing the book that was placed on it. He sure as hell wasn’t what one can call a bookworm but he didn’t have any other things available to entertain himself with, so he started reading into some of the books brought to him and actually started liking one particular genre: Horror, especially work from H.P. Lovecraft.

He continued from the last pages he’d stopped at last night of the book “The Haunter of The Night” until he heard a door open. Automatically Dean looked up, registering a guy at the entrance with a box in his hands– wait, that was Castiel, the guy from a week ago!

Lena rushed towards him and started talking to him, gesturing towards Dean’s bed. Castiel’s eyes followed the gesture, blue hues locking with Dean’s. Dean couldn’t stop himself from staring at the man, noticing hurt and pain flushing through the other’s face. Something about the sight of the man set off a fizzy, confusing sensation under his skin, something he didn't recognize. Was Castiel coming to finally visit him? God, Dean hoped so, he needed some distraction from these dull days so goddamn much. And there was another thing. Something...comforting about him being here. Dean hadn't had the chance to actually talk to him yet, hell, he had no idea who he was– but his body did.

Just as he thought that, the man broke eye contact, pushing the box into Lena’s arms before leaving with urgent haste again.

Dean lowered his eyes, his jaw clenched, attempting to ignore the feeling of disappointment. He had to accept that those people who were supposed to be his friends didn’t want to deal with him. It was too much for them.

“Dean, Cas dropped this off for you” Lena had returned back to him, still carrying that box Cas gave her.

“I don’t want it” Whatever it was, if Castiel refused to give it to him in person, Dean had no interest in looking at what it was.

“I’ll just put it down there” Lena kneeled down, neglecting Dean’s protest as she placed the box on the floor next to his bed.

With annoyed manner Dean licked his lips, looking away. By now he was sure that there was no one else going to visit him asides from Risa dropping by with an awkward conversation. If he got back to his home, wherever the hell that was, he might not even have it any different from the way it was in the hospital. By now he’d be satisfied with one random memory of himself watching TV or some crap like that. There wasn’t even one damn thing he could compare this to, not knowing if he’d experienced something worse than this. Everything was just so fucking empty and dark in his head as if he was in a pitch-black room, filled with all the things he needed but not being able to find the light switch to grab onto them. If he could just remember at least one thing...

His gaze fell onto the unclosed box. A picture was on the top of the stacked items, slightly wrinkled and the colors almost completely faded. Looking up to check if Lena was around, he grabbed the picture when he couldn’t see her anywhere close. It portrayed a blonde woman with a small kid in her arms, smiling into the camera with a blissful expression on her face, looking so...happy. Looking at the woman triggered intense feelings inside of Dean, sadness, pain, wistfulness… Who the hell was she?

He flipped the picture, finding a beautiful handwriting on the back site.

“Mary and Dean Winchester 1982” Dean read out loud, his voice so low it almost resembled a whisper. _Was that his-_

Curiosity overcame him, he wasn’t caring about his pride any longer, as he grabbed the box, taking out pictures and a notebook that looked like a calendar.

The pictures were all titled with Winchester-names. There was a John, a Mary, a Sam, and...Dean. That must’ve been his family. With raised interest he opened the calendar, flipping the first page open and reading the title.

**John Winchester’s diary**

__________________

Those green eyes. How much Cas hated and loved to see them after what felt like an eternity. He had hoped that Dean was sleeping by the time he arrived. Just so he could’ve snuck in and left the box there without having to look at the man. Once again, Cas had lost sense over time. It could’ve been a month or 3 days since Dean woke up, he didn’t know.

Breathing shallowly as he walked through to rain back to his cabin, he didn’t even care that he got dripping wet. Cas knew that he couldn’t be selfish about this, he couldn’t simply barge into the hospital and tell Dean all those things that had happened between the two of them. This was a clean slate for the fearless leader, he didn’t carry the weight of all those deaths, of those responsibilities, of saving the world on his shoulders anymore. The man could finally be happy with someone, maybe Risa. She was a strong person who knew how to handle Dean’s temper with a soft heart. She would be good for him.

But Cas?

No, Cas was a hopeless wreck. He was toxic and would only lead Dean into an abyss of desperation and darkness. After all the former hunter had done for the world, a fresh start was only a small part of what he deserved. If Cas didn’t know any better he would’ve said that the memory loss had been fate.

“Cas!”

Cas turned his body partially around, glancing at the person calling for him. “You’re gonna get wet, Lena” Among Kate, Rogers and Risa, Lena and Cas were the only ones who knew about Dean’s state. The rumor that Dean had woken up was spread all over the camp already but no one knew that he was suffering from amnesia. It was too much of a risk, since he was vulnerable in this state and the requests for a new leader would only run higher.

“I know” she laughed a little, trying to cover her head with her jacket. “Cas, listen, I need you to know that Dean needs you”

~~Dean needs me. Dean needs me.~~

A desperate laughter broke out of the man’s mouth, before he pressed his lips together in fear he’d lose control over his human voice. “He doesn’t need me”

“Yes, he does” Lena protested. “He needs a friend who knows him, who knows about his past and understands him. No one of us can give him that except for you. Barely anyone knows more about his past than that he was a demon-hunter.”

Cas averted the woman’s eyes, looking away instead and trying not to let those words get to him. _He doesn’t need you, he doesn’t, you idiot_. His whole body wanted to believe her and just follow her back, sit next to Dean and have a simple conversation for the first time in a year. He yearned the man so fucking much the thought of leaving the leader’s life completely pained him physically but he knew he couldn’t do that. The last thing Dean needed was a sex-addicted junkie who was worthless without his angel powers. He chuckled breathlessly, shaking his head before turning it towards the female. “I’m useless, Lena” A faked smile covered the pained expression. “I can’t do this” He looked at the woman a moment longer before starting to walk again, leaving Lena in the rain.

He really needed some drugs now. Maybe he’d even get the best painkiller of all- heroin. Usually he wouldn’t touch it, having it stored with all the other stack of drugs but it was meant for really bad days. Guess, it was the perfect day for that now.


	3. The truth

The faint light on the nightstand was the only light source there was in the hospital room, fitting to the the only noise of rustling paper.

Dean had spent hours flipping through the pages of the journal, barely ever noticing when the nurses would walk by to check on him and trying to keep the session with Rogers as short as possible. He couldn’t stop reading the written words in a seemingly familiar handwriting, his eyes firmly focused on every paige, not daring to over-read anything. This wasn’t a diary of some teenage chick who was going through acne and boy drama– this was the journal of Dean’s **father**. The only memory source he could find among the pictures.

His father kept on being brief and direct, always going straight to the point, while on the other hand, he had written a hell-ish amount of weird-ass shit. That his mother burned in a fire while being pinned onto the ceiling, that he’d learned “the truth in Missouri” without describing it furthermore. Drawings of, what it looked like, monsters and symbols on almost every paige, newspaper articles, numbers...

_Dean still hardly talks. [...]Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he’s trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night._

Sam. The boy was mentioned a lot in combination with himself, his brother, as he found out. It was strange to go through memories which Dean couldn’t remember, about himself going to middle school, being premature about girls and sex in comparison to most kids. Of how he already knew how to drive before he got a black 67’ Chevy Impala with 16.

_I killed a shape shifting monster tonight [...]_

Dean’s brows frowned as he saw the word “shape shifting monster” again. He’d seen it being mentioned before among others such as werewolves, vampires, ghosts, the list goes on. Everytime they had something to do with his father killing them and hunting them down, claiming to let Dean shoot a .22 by the age of 7.

Was his father crazy? Did he kill innocent people because he thought that they’re monsters? Did the death of his wife traumatize him in a way that he saw a threat in everything?

“You need some sleep”

Quickly, Dean shot his head up, recognizing Kate’s face, her expression eshausted and tired. He didn’t even hear her come in. “I can sleep when I’m dead” he commented before looking down again, flipping to the next paige.

“At least your personality didn’t change” Dean detected a small smile in her voice. “Just try to keep it short, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah”

_Dean turns fifteen today. A week ago he helped me take out a spirit haunting a grocery owned by an Indian family in Erie, Pennsylvania._

Spirit haunting. Did Dean believe all of that crap when he was that age? Did he think of his dad being crazy?

“Kate d’you know anything about me?”

“A little, yes”

“Then do you know anything about my dad?”

Kate hesitated for a moment, the dead silence inducing Dean to look up, seeing that look on her face all of the staff (which, weirdly enough, only seemed to be consisting out of three people) they’d given him every time he’d asked questions about his past. “You tell me “baby steps” one more time and god help me…”

“I barely know anything” Kate advocated, crossing her arms into a defensive position. “And from what I know, your past is very complicated, besides-”

“Was John Winchester crazy?” Dean wouldn’t let her finish, he needed to know what the hell this journal was all about. “Was he in some mental institution, imagining stuff?”

A flush of fear crossed the woman’s face, her lips spread into a thin line as if she was trying to keep her mouth shut. Dean wouldn’t break eye contact, noticing how her eyes darted down to the journal in his lap before looking up again. A tense minute of silence went by, Kate continuously opening her mouth before quickly pressing her lips back together again, not saying a word. Dean didn’t back down, and slowly, he was losing his patience. He felt as if he wasn’t much of a patient person himself by nature, and he’d been in the hospital for over a week without getting straight answers.

“I need...I need to check on... the other patient” She whispered, her hand nervously gesturing towards the other man who’d been lying in bed the whole day without talking.

“Kate, get back here” But she was already walking, her head lowered like an intimidated animal. “ **Kate!** ”

That was it. All convictions of “taking babysteps” aside, that was just the tip of the iceberg. It was time someone gave him a clear answer and stopped averting his questions. Swiftly, Dean climbed out of the bed, following the nurse to the other’s patient bed before grabbing onto her arm. “Answer my question”

The woman looked anxiously around as if she was trying to find someone to support her but there was no one there. “You’re going to wake up the other patient, I can’t-”

“Don’t” Dean locked eyes with her again, staring her down. “Was my father crazy, Kate?”

Her eyes darted once again, this time in a manner that was fear of someone hearing them, before letting out a held breath, her voice firm as she answered. “No, he wasn’t”

With clenched eyes Dean raised his head at the mix of satisfaction and confusion he was feeling. “Then why the hell did he write all that crap about monsters?”

Her eyes met his, a meaningful look on her face, as she opened her mouth, breathing in like she was preparing to give a long explanation– but no words escaped her mouth, instead her head swung around to the bed next to them, her eyes widening in horror. Dean didn’t have the chance to follow her eyes because the next thing he knew was his body hitting the floor, a scream filling the silence of the hospital.

Lifting himself to his knees, Dean’s eyes flit up to Kate, seeing her attempting to fight off a man, yelling to get off of her. It was the patient.

Within a second, adrenaline flushed through his body from his head to his toes, sharpening his senses. He jumped up, grabbing onto the wooden chair next to the bed before bashing it into the man, causing him to fall over. “Go!” he yelled at Kate, not even able to think of what he was doing. It was as if there was a deep-grown instinct inside of him, taking over his body. Barely realizing that Kate started running, he tackled the guy on the ground, his hands closing around his neck. Only now he noticed strange reddened bruise-like marks all over his face, the dead, bloodlusty look in his eyes. A punch into Dean’s chest made him stumble back, his body crushing into the wall. How the hell was that guy so damn strong?

“Well, well, Dean Winchester” The guy gripped onto the collar of Dean’s hospital robe, getting up way too close for Dean’s preferences. “Finally woken up from his little coma” A fist hit across Dean’s face, his head landing hard against the wall. His ears started ringing of the pain, a sharp headache threatening to strike. “What if we put you right back into it” Another blow flew across his face, his jaw this time. Dean could feel warm, sticky liquid running down his nose, and taste it in his mouth, noticing it to be the familiar iron taste of blood. “Or how about we turn you into something else?” A horrible, crazy-looking smirk split the man’s face before bringing his wrist up to his mouth and biting brutally into it, blood dripping down his arm. _Turning him into something else?_ What the hell was that guy saying?

Feeling his heartbeat fasten, Dean could hear alarm bells starting to ring in his head, his body completely alerted, telling him break free. “Not if I kill you first” with a snarl he brought up his knee, kicking the guy into his stomach, throwing a sucker punch as the guy let go of him. Dean grabbed onto a wooden piece of the chair he’d broke before when crushing it into the man, before walking around the man until he stood right in front of the other, seeing him attempting to get up. Quickly, Dean swung the wooden plank over his head, bashing it into his skull, once, twice, thrice,...

“Dean”

Breathing heavily, he looked up, seeing Rogers standing just a few inches away with two other unfamiliar men by his side. “Put the plank down”

Dean’s eyes darted to the wooden piece in his hand, noticing blood splattered all of it before looking down at the man he’d hit it with. His skull was split open at the back of his head, red liquid dripping down and forming a puddle of blood. The plank clunked to the ground with a soft clutter, his heartbeat so loud it was tough to concentrate on anything else. He had no idea what came over him. That instinct that had taken over his body was dark and unsettling and yet it felt so damn familiar. But the strangest part was that he just killed the guy and he felt absolutely no guilt and when he started talking again, his voice was firm and steady. “We need to talk, doc”

Rogers double-checked if the man was still alive, before telling the two men to leave, gesturing Dean to follow him to his “office” which was more of a small room with a desk and some bookshelves. “Take a seat” The doctor said while leaning back on his across the table. “I’m sure you feel very confused of-”

“Shut it, Rogers” Dean could feel blood still dripping down his face and mixing with saliva in his mouth, so that he had to swallow down to even speak. Rogers would go on again and tell him some vague-ass explanation without answering his questions but after what just happened he owed him a straight answer. “I want to know everything. All that bullshit you’ve been hiding.”

Rogers was observing him calmly, nodding. “Like I told you-”

“I swear, if you’re gonna finish the sentence you’ll regret it” Dean was done with all of this secrecy, of all the thing they’d been hiding from him. He plonked the journal of his father in front of Rogers. “You know what this is? My dad’s journal. And you know what it says? A hell lot of crazy shit about monsters and demons” The doctor leaned forward, his fingers carefully opening the calendar. Dean had already put the pieces together mentally, of what his father had written, of people keeping their mouth shut about his past, but it sounded so fucking insane that he just needed some different explanation that made more sense. “I asked Kate if my Dad’s crazy, she said no. And now some psycho attacked her and wanted to _‘turn me into something else’_. So you’re going to tell me all the gory details of what’s going on”

“I understand” With a defeated sigh Rogers put down his glasses, rubbing the temple of his nose, before nodding slowly. “Everything your father wrote about monsters is real. You father was a demon hunter, so were you and your brother. ”

Oddly enough, it didn’t surprise Dean, he wasn’t even sure if it was that he wanted to hear. It should’ve freaked him out to hear that supernatural beings aren’t some myth but actually real occurrences. But it didn’t.

“This was why I was hesitant about telling you about your past” Rogers continued. “I, myself know just very little about you and your past, I haven’t been confronted about it until-...”

The pause made Dean frown. “Until what?”

“Until the apocalypse occurred”

Slowly, Dean took a seat on the chair, his brows raised in disbelief, while Rogers continued. “It happened 5 years ago, in 2009. Lucifer had released the Croatoan Virus, which I can only describe as the closest to a Zombie infestation. I can’t say for sure but it was also the creature you killed just now. It is very complex to explain, it was you who actually told me what had happened.”

Dean let out a loud, short breath, a mocking undertone coming along with it. “Lucifer, as in the devil?” This was a lot to digest. The apocalypse, monsters, Lucifer, Zombies. It seemed so damn unreal, but at the same time Dean...believed it.

The doctor nodded as confirmation. “I’m very sorry you had to learn it this way. I wanted you to be able to get familiar with the world we’re in one step at a time”

“Yeah I got that much.”

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions in your mind”

Strangely, that wasn’t the case this the time. Dean’s mind was filled with all the new information, trying to sort it out. Every day he used to have questions over questions. Of who he was, what his life used to be, why he had scars all over his body, the tattoo and mark on his arm. But in that moment he only had one question. “So what the hell is this place here”

“Camp Chitaqua” The man cleaned his glasses with his white robe before putting them back on. “It used to be an abandoned camping ground but you built it up again and made it a sort of sanctuary for survivors. You are the leader of this camp”

The leader. “Wow” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Well lucky me, huh?”

“Now that you’re familiar with the situation, you’re free to leave whenever you prefer to. I was planning on keeping you here for another 2 weeks but since your body seems to be functioning well and you learned about what had happened, I understand if you want to leave the hospital. I’d only have to check your blood levels one more time. Your short time memory doesn’t seem to be affected and you can store new information, so only one more night would be the requirement, is that alright?”

Dean nodded, looking around. He was leading a camp. It felt oddly natural but how the hell was he supposed to do that with no memory of anything or anyone? “Fine”

__________________

Cas woke up in a haze of dizziness and warmth, feeling heaviness pinning his torso and right arm down. It took some attempts to open his eyes, crust making his eyes stick together. Sleepily, Cas rubbed his eyes, before realizing that it was two women laying on him in the middle of the floor among others sleeping around them. Oh, another black-out, how much he loved those, then he didn’t have to deal with the pain of human life. He wouldn’t mind living through black-outs like those all the time, but from what he could tell from the naked bodies, it must have been an amazing orgy once again. Carefully, he pulled his right arm back, ignoring the tingling sensation of it being asleep, before lifting the other woman’s head to stand up. His body was already craving for drugs, leading him to his cupboard where he’d stashed all of them properly, drawing him to it like a moth to a lightblub. He grabbed onto a pill of Oxycodone, swallowing it without water before forming a line of cocaine on the drawer, sniffing it in quickly and releasing a relieved sigh. The drugs haven’t even kicked in yet, but the placebo effect already made his body feel more relaxed and awake.

The rattling of his pearl curtain resonated, before he heard a nervous “Cas” made him turn around, looking over a dark-haired, short male who widened his eyes before a hand quickly covered them, cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. “Jesus, Cas, get some pants”

A chuckle formed on the former angel’s face, only noticing now that he was completely naked. “C’mon, Chuck, I am sure you have seen a naked body before” he retorted before looking for the first piece of clothing he could find on the floor, before dressing himself sloppily.

“Well, I don’t think many of us get laid as much as you do” Chuck let out with a nervous little laugh. “Are you covered?”

Cas nodded, before remembering that Chuck couldn’t see him. “As covered as a chicken in a bottle”

Chuck hesitantly lifted his hand, his brows lifted in confusion of the reference.

“Enochian-humor”, Cas answered before Chuck could ask, walking towards him, while trying not to step on the sleeping ladies. “Now tell me, what brings the last mighty prophet here?”

A shy smirk formed on Chuck’s face for just a moment when Cas referred him to a mighty prophet, before clearing his throat, looking around. “Can we...uhm..Get a more private place?”

With a short hand gesture, Cas directed him outside, following the man behind the cabin of his. “What is so important?”

Anxiously looking around if anyone was around, Chuck pressed his lips together, playing around with the hem of his jacket “Well..It’s ...I mean I don’t know if he recovered or anything but uhm….” Pale grey-blue eyes met Cas’ gaze, his expression twitchy and troubled. “Dean is back”

Cas’ little fake-smile froze, slowly vanishing from his face.

“There was a Croat in the hospital last night and well, after Dean killed it, he got to know about the whole apocalypse and all and now, they’re bringing him to his cabin”

It felt as if Cas’ whole body was made out wood, his breath shallow, numbness covering all the emotions inside of him.

“And I...I just thought you should know, since...you know. And you could kind of tell him a bit more about his life.”

Dean was back.

It took a few seconds, maybe a minute for Cas to forcefully put on his fake smile again, blocking out the unreasonable panic mixed with his heart flattering. “Thanks Chuck but I’m the last person Dean should see.” Swiftly, Cas paced back to his cabin, leaning against the wall behind the curtain, slowly breathing in and out, in and out.

_No, don’t think about him, don’t think about him._

He’d reminded himself several times– Dean was going to have a clean slate, a better life, he might actually smile again and be happy. The box he’d had given to Lena for Dean were all filled with memories of his family and Bobby, none of them involved Cas. He’d sneaked them out of Dean’s cabin when he was staying there, laying in the other’s bed, the sheets still smelling exactly like Dean, intoxicating him more than any drug ever could. Most of the time Cas had spent his time in that bed when the leader would get up, refusing any sort of affection, and leave the cabin before the ex-angel would wake up. But in those moments of despair and hoeplessness of Cas being desperate enough to walk into the cabin of the fearless leader and simply try to memorize every moment he had with Dean, he craved for those cold silence more than the complete absence.

And then realized, he’d left his stuff there. His eyes were gaping wide open, panic overflowing his body, making him internally swear that the Oxy took so long to do its calming, relaxing effect. Chuck had told him that they were letting Dean out just now, so Cas still might have had some time left until the man arrived at his cabin. Without hesitation, Cas rushed through the door, his pace rapid as he ran through the camp to the once fearless leader’s cabin.

A déja vu crossed his mind, as he was picking up his clothes and empty bags of drugs, of one of the crime- TV shows Dean had shown him some years ago, it was as if he’d murdered someone and was trying to hide the evidence before the police came. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t for the fact he was running down the clock and he couldn’t afford Dean finding anything that could give him even a hint of their relationship; it was too messy too explain and too broken to keep alive, the fearless leader did it, but this new man deserved better.

Having his hands full with his belongings, he grabbed onto the last pair of his jeans that he found on the floor, hurrying to leave as little evidence as possible, –when he heard voices in front of the cabin.

_No, fuck, no, no, no._

Dean couldn’t find him there, catching him like a stalker sniffing someone’s underwear. Cas could see shadow at the windows right in front of the entrance, the voices getting clearer now, one of them being Dean’s. Panicky, Cas’s eyes scanned the room, his judgment too clouded to remember the emergency exits to this cabin that he used to know perfectly.

“So this is my place?” Dean’s voice was coming through the walls, just when the door to the cabin opened, the sunlight blocking Cas’ vision to recognize the faces.

A pause of silence tensed the air, the figures wouldn’t move or say anything, but simply stare at him like a naughty puppy. Cas let his shoulders fall, too late to sneak out, it was pointless trying to hide so he attempted instead to find a logical, less-crazy excuse to why he’d be in the cabin of the ex-hunter with a bunch of clothes and trash in his arms, and not look like a complete creep.

“Cas” the female figure started walking towards him, her face getting more recognizable as she approached him, identifying the sharp features of Risa’s face. “What are you doing here?” there was some slight accusation in her tone. The rest of the group followed Risa slowly, the door closing behind them.

“I-...” There was still no excuse he could think of to get out of this situation safely, his eyes gazing at the other two men, Chuck’s twitchy posture making it hard to confuse him with anyone, and finally blue eyes fell on Dean Winchester. Tall and broad-shouldered he was standing there his brows curiously lifted at Cas. He looked just like the former angel remembered him, with the same haircut, the same full, soft lips, even the fresh bruises of his face appeared familiar. Except for one thing, Dean’s eyes, the color was still the same, so was the shape. But there was something missing, the dark shadow of exhaustion, the hopelessness and the coldness that had hardened the man’s face were all gone; instead Cas could identity the complete opposite, vividness brightening them up in a way that Cas hadn’t seen in ages, making him look so much younger… almost as if the last 5 years hadn’t wreaked havoc on the man. “I...wanted to say welcome back” Dean broke eye contact, focusing them on Risa instead. It wasn’t the best lie Cas had said, especially with those clothes in his hands but it was better than the truth. “And wash his clothes” he faked a smile to try and turn the tension into something hilarious.

_Not weird one bit, good job, Cas._

“So, I should get going”, he proceeded, walking with the clothes in his arms and avoiding eye contact with anyone on his way towards the door, when he felt a hand placed on his chest, stopping him.

“Castiel, right?”

Cas could feel his heartbeat quicken when he heard Dean’s voice, a little whisper in his head telling him false hopes of the man remembering the once so mighty angel. But no, if it was his Dean, he wouldn’t have called him by his angel name. Waveringly, Cas turned his head at the man, attempting to block out all his thoughts and memories about Dean, to give him the most casual look he could muster, “It’s just Cas”

Dean looked like he wanted to say something, at least some of his expressions remained readable, but his green eyes turned towards Risa for a split of a second, and Cas took his cue to leave when that happened. The man was still lost and it appeared Risa to be the one holding his hand to guide him through the amnesia, Cas could understand why the man relied on her. “Glad to have you back,” he faked another smile just as insecure as the first one, before he walked out of the cabin, his heart feeling heavier with every step he took. He had no place in Dean’s life anymore.


End file.
